


Bargain

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst without a happy ending, Break Up, Dubious Deals, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, but it's nothing explicit i promise, depends on how you interpret things, hence no archive warning, i guess?, no happy ending, sad feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: How far will you go to save the man you love?





	Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it is I, Elsa, Queen of Angst, back with more angst >.<
> 
> Life has been c r a z y but I found this one lingering on my notes app, so I decided to spruce it up and post it on here. There is literally no context for this, I just had the scene in my head and wrote it out. Have fun trying to imagine all the possibilities, I guess. 
> 
> Also - I have not abandoned my WIPs, they are still there, I just need to carve out some time to update them :)

The brisk autumn wind whips around you, its stinging tendrils nipping your skin. You rub your sweaty palms up and down your bare arms to chase away the cold, but there’s a particular chill inside of you that no amount of friction can seem to heat up.

It’s the middle of the night. As you’d expected, the industrial yard you’ve agreed to meet him in is vacant and eerily silent. The pungent smells of urine, mould and general decay waft into your nostrils. As you pick your way through the dilapidated buildings, you note the junk stacked into haphazard piles, the grimy lights shining sickly yellow circles on the grubby concrete floor.

You round a corner and — there he is, standing with his hands in his pockets and his back towards you. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him.

_Fuck_ , but he is breathtaking.

Steve is standing at the far end of the courtyard underneath one of the few overhead lamps that seem to be working in this godforsaken place. The stark lighting above him, combined with the shadowy darkness of night have turned his pale blonde hair into a shade of honeyed gold. He’s wearing a black bomber jacket, a pair of basic, light-wash jeans and some scuffed black converse. When turns around and spots you, a small grin illuminates his expression.

It takes everything in you to not do the same.

Neither of you say a word as you walk towards him. Your heeled boots crunch in the gravel, the sound quickly carried away by the brisk wind. Steve stays where he is, hesitant to approach you. You come to a stop when you’re about three feet away from him, your hands clasped in front of you, your gaze downcast and to the left, focused on a tuft of grass emerging through the gravel beside his feet.

“You look good,” Steve murmurs, in lieu of a greeting.

You don’t reply. Instead, you self-consciously tug on the hem of your little black dress, painfully aware of how much thigh it is exposing.

“You couldn’t have picked a more shady spot to meet, honey,” he continues, gesturing in a grand, sweeping motion with one hand. A pregnant pause, then, “I missed you,” he adds quietly, like it’s a secret he’s been holding onto.

_Fuck. This is going to be difficult_.

Your hands ball into fists as you squeeze your eyes shut. You exhale slowly through your teeth, willing your racing heart to calm the fuck down. When you open your eyes, you find Steve looking at you with his head cocked to the side and a line creasing the centre of his perfect brow.

_It’s now or never, woman._

“Steve, we need to talk,” you say, proud of how clear and steady your voice is.

His mouth twitches at the corners. “Kinda…figured that’s why we’re here, right?” Steve asks carefully, in a voice that tells you that he’s more confused than he’s willing to let on.

“When were you gonna tell me?” you ask, injecting as much spiteful venom as you can into your words.

“Tell you—what?” Steve echoes, his brows knitting together, his body is beginning to tense up defensively, in response to your accusatory tone.

You swallow back the bile rising in your throat. “Steve,” you growl, “Don’t fucking play dumb, alright? Gimme some credit, here.”

“Honey, I genuinely don’t—,”

“No?” you snap, shooting him as much of a murderous glare as you can manage. “There were so many that you just lost count, huh?”

You can see the gears and cogs spinning like crazy inside his head. Steve is frantically racing to figure out the reason for your anger, but—fucking hell. He’s giving you his confused puppy look and  _goddammit_ Steven,  _why_  do you have to be so good at that?

“Let me spell it out for you, Steven,” you grit out, when you think you’ve allowed him to puzzle it out for long enough. “I know you’ve been screwing around behind my back.”

“ _WHAT?”_  Steve shouts, utterly aghast. You wince internally, fighting hard to not let your true emotions show. You can’t betray the real motive behind your dramatics, but fuck if it isn’t killing you to do this. You want to take it back, you want to take it all back, to throw yourself at his feet and say you don’t mean any of it but you  _can’t_. God, you’d give anything to wipe that look off his face; the hurt, the betrayal, the completely lost and—and  _heartbroken_ look in his eyes.

You swallow, buying yourself some time and mentally steeling yourself for the next blow you’re about to dish out.

“Steven, cut the bullshit,” you hiss, “I’ve seen the videos myself, I know the truth.”

“Videos—what?” Steve sputters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Honey, honey, I  _swear_ , I didn’t—whatever it is, I didn’t—no, I  _swear_.”

“Steve, I’m  _done_ ,” you say, the finality evident in your tone. “We’re through.”

He’s been respectfully keeping his distance up until now, but Steve now takes two long strides to stand beside you, catching your wrist as you’re about to turn away and stomp off. His touch is like an iron brand against your skin, the calluses on his fingers familiar and strangely comforting. You want to turn into his grip, to fold yourself into his arms, but you force yourself to yank your hand out of his grip. “Steve, let me go.”

“Please don’t go, honey,” Steve begs. You don’t have to turn around to know that there are tears flowing down his cheeks; you can hear them in his strained, broken voice. “I—I don’t want you to leave—please, I—”.

“Too bad,” you spit, forcing yet more venom into your words. “I’m going.”

“Sweetheart, I—I love you!  _Please,_ ” Steve cries desperately, his other hand curling over your shoulder, trying to get you to turn around. You struggle against him, resolutely staring in the opposite direction, because you know that once you make eye contact, it’ll all be over.

“No,” you whisper, your voice as coarse as the gravel beneath your feet. “Don’t do this to me, Steve.”

“I—will you, please,” he begs, “Please, I swear on my life, sweetheart. No one else. No one else owns my heart—whatever you saw, it wasn’t—please, baby.” Steve is inching closer, trying to wrap his arms around you, even as you fight to shove him away. You wedge your arm between your bodies and manage to press your palm flat against his chest, pushing hard against the unyielding wall of muscle.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“I can’t, baby, I can’t — you…you make me  _crazy_ , you make me want to tear the world apart so we can be toge—,”

“I said  _stop_!” you shout, your voice ringing loud in the deserted yard.

Steve’s jaw slams shut with an audible snap. His hands loosen their grip, allowing you to pull yourself away. You curl in on yourself, bringing your shoulders up to your ears and your arms over your chest. The intensity of Steve’s gaze is practically burning a hole into the back of your skull.

“You don’t mean any of that,” you say, voice barely louder than that. “You—you say it, but you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” Steve says, voice equally as hushed as yours. “With every single fibre of my being, right down to the nucleus of every atom, sweetheart. I love you. I was made for loving you.” The sincerity is evident and it’s physically  _hurting you_  to push him away like this.

“Oh really?” you snap, spinning around without warning to snarl in his face. “You love me, really?”

Steve’s brows knit together, the confusion and sheer helplessness written all over his face. His eyes and expression hide nothing — you can  _see_ the gears turning inside his head as he tries to make sense of the situation. You’re praying,  _pleading_ to the heavens above that your acting skills are up to par; if Steve has  _any_ inclination whatsoever that your word are less than genuine, then this would all have been for naught.

He can never know the truth.

“Sweetheart—,” Steve cuts himself off, chewing on his bottom lip as he rakes his fingers through his hair. The tear tracks on his cheek glisten in the murky light. “Baby—whatever’s hurting you…you know you can tell me, right? We—we love each other, and whatever it is, we can work it out. Together.”

“Is that right?” you snap, your voice wobbling a little as the threads holding your facade together begin to fray. “You love me, is that right?”

Steve opens his mouth but you barge on before he can get another word in. Your composure is rapidly slipping and you need to finish this,  _now_.

“I’m not your  _sweetheart,_  Steve,” you say coldly. “What we had—yeah. Yeah, it was great while it lasted. But this is on you, Steve.  _This_ ,” you snarl, gesticulating between you and him in tight circles with one hand, “This is over.”

“Sweetheart—,”

“I am  _not_ your goddamn sweetheart!” you shriek, “Fucking stop it will you, you sick bastard!”

Steve jerks back, the force of your words cutting deeper than any knife ever could. They’ve had their intended effect, though; you’ve stabbed him right where the heart is.

But at what cost?

You ache to take it all back, to apologise profusely and swear that you meant none of it, but you  _can’t._ You’re seconds away from puking your guts out, so you hastily deliver the last blow.

“Heartbreak hurts, doesn’t it?” you spit out, “Guess you should’a thought of that before you went and stomped all over mine. Have fun tryna piece yourself back together, Steve,” you say dismissively, turning on your heel and strutting away.

“Y/N—,”

“I’d say see ya’ around,” you call over your shoulder, “But if you come anywhere near me again, I  _will_ cut your balls off.”

As you cross the courtyard once more, you don’t hear the telltale crunching of footsteps rushing after you. It’s worked, then.

Blistering hot tears sting the back of your eyelids. The pain in your chest is becoming increasingly acute. You dare not turn around, fearing that the sight of Steve — the  _love of your life_ — will be too much for you to handle, in your compromised state. With a resigned huff, you tug down the hem of your dress and march across the courtyard, before weaving through the tight alleyways of the industrial yard. You shoulder open the chain-link fence that marks the perimeter of the site, and, just as you expected, a nondescript, sleek black hair awaits you.

As you approach it, the back door swings open. Your pace falters as you swallow nervously.  _This is it_ , you think, as you cast one last glance over your shoulder, towards the yard. Towards  _Steve._ You can’t see him now, as there are too many buildings in the way, but you bid him a silent goodbye, nonetheless.

Squaring your shoulders, you stride forward with confidence and slide into the car in one seamless motion, the door swinging shut automatically one you’ve tucked your legs in. It’s pitch black inside the car, thanks to the heavily tinted windows. The interior reeks of fresh leather.

“Well done, Agent,” croons a nasally voice that seems to originate from the shadows themselves. The mere sound of it sends a sickening shiver down your spine. You fingers tug at the neckline of your dress, wrenching off the mic clip attached to it. You toss the mic to the floor in disgust. You realise that your hands are trembling like leaves in the wind.

“You promised me,” you whisper, your voice wavering slightly as your fingers curl into tightly-clenched fists in your lap.

“Indeed,” the voice continues, inching closer as its owner slides across the backseat towards you. The car lurches to a start, knocking you off balance. You sway at the sudden motion and an arm slings over your shoulder to steady you, drawing you against the man’s side. It takes everything in you to not retch at the contact. You have to physically restrain yourself from shaking him off.

“He’ll stay safe?” you ask, despising how timid you sound.

“I am a man of my word,” he says, avoiding your question. “But only  _if_ you uphold your side of the bargain.”

You feel the tips of his fingers trailing over your bare shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut, battling down the panic and nausea trying to claw their way up your throat. You know how this night is supposed to end; you’d walked into this agreement fully aware of all the terms and conditions, but none of that knowledge is helping to make this moment any easier. You’ve brokered a deal with the Devil himself, but you’re not ready to accept your fate.

_Please don’t hate me,_ you think, as you feel cold fingers pinching your chin and tilting your face upwards,  _My heart belongs to you, darling. It’ll always be yours. I love you, Steve._

**Author's Note:**

> Share the love on [tumblr](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/171321320460/bargain) :)


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